


Shield Your Eyes

by Cirth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, M/M, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, no beta we die like arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:28:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28614378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirth/pseuds/Cirth
Summary: Arthur never thought Merlin was attractive.Until he did.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Will (Merlin)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 137





	Shield Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic of 2021 and surprise, it's not DC. I love Merthur but I needed me some good ol' one-sided pining. Also Gwen is my bae but sadly she is not who Arthur wants here. :')
> 
> This is my first ever Merlin fic!

It isn’t that Arthur thinks Merlin is unattractive. It’s that attraction had never been part of the equation. 

Merlin has always been... _ Merlin _ . A little awkward, a lot clumsy, and wholly unsuited to being a servant (or doing any kind of work, at all, ever). 

The closest Arthur has come to thinking of Merlin’s appearance was that he looked a bit funny, with big ears that stuck out of the sides of his head and a long face and buck teeth. And then the thought had flown away, chased by the annoyance at his unpolished boots and the layers of dust over his desk. 

That changes in Ealdor. 

In the afternoon Merlin trots off to Will’s house and does not return for dinner, so Hunith sends Arthur to retrieve him. Arthur really, really can’t say no to Merlin’s mother, even if he’d have whacked Merlin upside the head if he’d asked something like that himself. He has the intention to go in with the composure of a bull, but stops short when he catches a glimpse of the two boys through a ragged curtain, which separates Will’s room from the rest of the place. 

They’re on the ground with their backs to a wall, talking in low voices, heads tilted towards each other. Arthur can barely make out what they are saying. Faint candlelight licks across their faces and Arthur is struck by the shadows on Merlin’s cheeks. He makes a quiet oath to force him to eat off his own plate under the guise of testing for poison. Can’t be too nice, when it comes to Merlin. 

He prepares to pull aside the curtain. 

And then Will leans over and kisses Merlin, who should pull away, because he’s Merlin, and Merlin is a conglomeration of elbows and knees and more sarcasm than sense. But he closes his eyes and kisses back, his lips moving over Will’s, clumsy at first, and then surer, more desperate. 

Arthur should bolt. The rational part of his brain is telling him to get out of there and offer them some privacy, like any decent man would do. Instead, he remains rooted to the spot, breathing hitched. Heart stirs in his belly at the soft, wet sounds. 

Suddenly he is too aware of Merlin, of his full, plush mouth, of his messy hair and smooth pale skin. He is too aware of the glint of his tongue and the sweep of his dark lashes. Will pushes him down, gentle, and Merlin goes willingly, his long knotty fingers sinking into Will’s hair. Arthur thinks, bizarrely, that there is more dirt on Merlin’s old jacket now. 

They move against each other, slow but resolute, like they couldn’t imagine not doing this. Their breaths come ragged, interspersed with breathy moans. Arthur wonders if Will can taste the sprig of mint Merlin had been chewing earlier on his lips.

“Merlin,” Will says, and slides his hands beneath Merlin’s tunic, shucking it up to reveal the shock of his ribs, a thin trail of hair and the hint of a pale nipple. 

Pain brings Arthur back. He looks down and uncurls his fists to find little half-moons pressed into his palms. 

He wrenches himself away and out of the house, stumbling back to Hunith’s place. When he gets there he leans against the brittle doorframe, panting, head filled with nothing but Merlin’s mouth and Merlin’s hands and Merlin’s furrowed brow. He wants to wear him like a skin.

He almost jumps a foot in the air when Hunith sticks her head around a corner and asks if Merlin will be coming along. 

_ Don’t count on it _ , Arthur wants to snap. Then he takes a deep breath. It is not Hunith’s fault that Arthur is –

_ Twisted, filthy, watching people and enjoying it – _

– a mess. 

He clears his throat and says, “No, I think they may have gone off somewhere.”

Somewhere, he registers that this is not supposed to happen. He is trained to be ready for anything – attacks from enemies, pestilence, famine. 

But he had not anticipated the world rearranging itself into a new shape. 

***

Will is dead. Arthur expects to feel some kind of sick satisfaction – it’s just one of those awful, bitter things.

Instead he feels immense guilt – that Will had died because of him, and that he keeps  _ noticing _ Merlin even though Merlin wouldn’t think of him in that way. 

***

The day after they return to Camelot, he doesn’t tell Merlin off for dropping the coat while dressing him. It just means more of Merlin’s hands over him. The thought makes his toes curl in shame, but he doesn’t stop it. 

It’s annoying as hell. Weeks pass and Arthur can’t. Stop. Thinking about him. 

Merlin wakes him and Arthur imagines pushing him against the wall. He pours him wine and he wants to put those fingers in his mouth. He draws him a bath and he wonders what it would be like to take it together, to run soap-slicked hands through Merlin’s hair and watch him laugh. 

“Are you being meaner to Merlin than usual?” Morgana asks him one night at dinner. 

“I am not mean to him.”

“You stepped on his foot.”

“He hadn’t folded my clothes.”

Morgana makes a disgruntled noise from the back of her throat. Arthur takes a bite of his turkey. 

He begins to realise other things about his horrible toad of a servant. That Merlin is taller than Arthur (though not by much) and only seems small because he tends to stoop and bend his head. That his shoulders are strong. That his smile grows slowly, like he’s thinking about what’s making him happy rather than just reacting to it.

It’s when Arthrur starts to find that stupid, toothy grin  _ endearing _ that he decides that things have gone too far. 

He goes undercover at a tournament and stays with Gwen. It’s a perfect opportunity. He kisses her and it’s good. It’s better than good. Gwen is sweet, and intelligent, and pretty, and there’s not a much finer woman anyone could ask for. Arthur could picture himself being with her – could picture marrying her. She would make a just queen.  _ There _ , he thinks,  _ It’s not Merlin I want. _

Which is a mistake, because then he starts picturing his friend, and curses himself. 

_ It will fade _ , he announces to his reflection in the mirror, a couple of weeks later. There are bruises under his eyes.  _ You’ve hit your head too many times in the last few months and once your brain’s all healed up you’ll wonder how you could ever pine for that oaf.  _ He pauses, offended that he had used the word “pine” at all, let alone in relation to Merlin. 

“Arthur?” says Merlin, and Arthur jumps. He had not heard him enter his chamber. “Sire?”

_ Gods _ . He needs to ban Merlin from calling him Sire. 

“I ban you from calling me Sire.”

Merlin’s eyebrow ticks. “Wha – Okay, not complaining,” he says, holding up his palms, though he looks dubious. 

“Good to hear.”

Merlin walks over and does that thing where he leans towards Arthur, like a conspirator, or a boy with a secret. He smiles. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking,” says Arthur. The early morning sunlight has turned Merlin’s eyes an endless jewel-blue. “I’m thinking that you need to go clean the stables.”

Merlin sputters and rears back. “Why can’t you give me a day off instead?”

“Because pretty soon you’d ask for two days off, then a week, then a month, and eventually you’d be even more useless than you already are.”

Merlin huffs, but stalks off, snatching up Arthur’s laundry basket from the floor along the way. As he disappears out the door Arthur watches the flutter of his jacket – the same one that had been pressed to the floor of Will’s little hut. 

He collapses onto his bed and steeples his fingers, frowning. 

This is going to be a nightmare. 

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my name is garbage?? bxjasbc
> 
> lilaclotuses.tumblr.com


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